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Autumn has taken a turn here in Indiana. The once-vibrant reds and flaming oranges have become more muted, more brown than brilliant. Earth’s gentle retreat into winter has begun. While I am sad to see the landscape fade to beige, I sense an invitation to do a little fading of my own—to pull back and to settle in. Perhaps you feel it too. Some seasons are simply meant for less. But I find myself a tad hesitant, with a tinge of something that tastes a lot like guilt. I wonder: What will this pulling back do to my relationships? One of the narratives we so often believe is that when it comes to developing and sustaining deep relationships, “more” is always best. That in order to be a good friend, we must be constantly available to the people we love. Showing up and being present are kind of key ingredients to connection, right? Yes. But not always. A life of presence also requires a measured absence. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his book Life Together (a book that has made considerable impact on how I approach community) wrote: “Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. He will only do harm to himself and to the community. […] But the reverse is also true: Let him who is not in community beware of being alone.”
While on the surface pulling back might appear antithetical to developing deep connection, that space for quiet retreat is essential not only for our own souls but also for our ability to love and to be loved. We can embrace seasons of less—less coffee dates, less dinner parties, less committees, less Twitter—knowing that our aim is not isolation but renewal. Pulling back is a palate cleanser, not a main course. It allows the noise in our hearts and in our heads to settle. It clears away the soul clutter and invites us to pay attention to what is actually happening in our minds, bodies, and emotions. But we embrace this cleansing so that we can then return to the feast and drink fully from the cup of communion once again. It’s not forever. But for now, perhaps allowing ourselves to follow the rhythms of the changing seasons—of becoming a little more beige than brilliant—is exactly what we need.
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